Forgotten Dreams, Forgotten Wishes
by 7SCARS
Summary: The Goblin King keeps hearing a peculiar voice in his head, meanwhile Sarah is trying to survive "the real world", and overreaching Fae make Jareth's life hell. Everyone has something to find and something to hide. But how far are they willing to go?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I worked hard on this one so hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! On a totally random side note, did you guys know that April is national Grilled Chesses Sandwich Month? Who would've known Grilled Chesses Sandwiches had a whole month to themselves…anyways, enough babbling. -**

Jareth heard a giggle echo across his study. "Jareth", the voice whispered softly. He did not have time for this.

_Jareth. Come and play._

He ignored the voice. It had been taunting him for weeks now. Always inconveniencing at the most inopportune of times; He did not have time to deal with this right now.

_I know you can hear me Jareth. Why do you choose to ignore me?_

Jareth rubbed his throbbing skull. The voice had been giving headaches, which were unbearable at times. He needed to concentrate. He needed this done tonight. The Council was very explicit, they did not appreciate delays. It was a simple task really, menial even. But ever since the Duke of Undelton had been caught tampering with the Kingdom's reports, the Council ordered all monarchs to personally verify the authenticity of all the document of importance. Births and deaths, loans, treaties, checks and balances of the other kingdoms, Council notices, routine magic levels. Jareth had been signing papers since daybreak, or at least if felt like it, and the Goblin King was beaning to tire. This is when he was most vulnerable to the headaches. He had taken countless elixirs and all proved to have no effect on him. Jareth was forced to use his own magic to keep him awake and to keep him sane.

_Jareth, you know no amount of magic can keep me out. You know I'm only trying to help._

"This is just one of Luceat's illusions," Jareth told himself, "It's not real."

_Oh but I am. You can't keep lying to yourself like this. You'll surely drive yourself into an early grave._

Jareth gritted his teeth and put a shield of magic over himself. Evan an illusionist as talented as Luceat wouldn't be able to break through the charm. After a few moments of glorious silence, Jareth let out a relived sigh. He signed the last of the documents and placed the stack of papers in a magical wooden box. It was bottomless, meaning that it would expand to accommodate its contents, yet its appearance never changed. Jareth had been dumping so many papers in there, surely by now the box had expanded to the size of a large room. A small goblin could easily fall in there and never be found. "That's why there's a lock", mumbled Jareth under his breath. He placed the key in his breast pocket and began writing the letter to the Council ensuring that all documents within his possession were indeed authentic. Dipping his quill pen in ink, Jareth sensed movement from the corner of his eye. "Must be Borgath with my elixir," Jareth thought, "He's late as usual, incompetent fiend."

The moving figure approached Jareth, and the Goblin King put out his hand expecting a vial of elixir. The figure placed something in Jareth's hand but it wasn't a vial, it was a yellow rose.

"Borgath, I did not ask for a flower. I asked for –" Jareth looked up from his letter to face the figure, it was not Borgath. It was a child, five years of age, with hair so blonde it was nearly white. Her dress was pale blue, and her figure was outlined by the soft orange glow of the candlelight. Her skin was pale as snow, translucent in the moonlight. She was barefoot, her feet covered with mud. She had large, dark, emerald eyes which contrasted dramatically with her pale skin. Her thin lips had a light pink hue that was barely perceptible in the dim, flickering light.

"Who are you and how did you gain access to my study?" asked Jareth darkly.

_Don't be so cross! I came in through the door silly!_

The little girl began to twirl in circle around the room. Peals of laughter, young and delicate, fell from her lips like rose petals. Jareth stood up from his desk and crossed his arms. "You did not answer my question, child. Who are you?"

_You know who I am Jareth. Don't lie._

"I have never seen you in my life."

_Liar_

The little girl stopped twirling and looked up at Jareth. Now that she was closer, Jareth noticed that the child's irises where larger than normal. Her face had a color of curiosity and childish amusement. Quickly, her features changed. She stared into the eyes of the Goblin King, cold and seriously. Suddenly, the temperature of the room dropped a degree. Jareth remained unaffected by the child's chilling stare down. The little girl giggled with delight.

_You haven't changed Jareth. _

The child titled her head curiously to the side and commenced to dance about the room. "Of all days, she chooses today to send me an illusion. Has she no shame?" though Jareth, "It's most likely meant to delay me. I will have to have a world with the Council about your ongoing Luceat."

The child had stopped dancing and ran over to the wooden box. She nearly tore the top off and started throwing the documents on the floor.

_Say, where do you keep the colors Jareth?_

"Stay away from there, little girl, I would appreciate it if you didn't completely ruin my days work" warned Jareth.

He used his magic to sweep up the documents on the ground, place them on his desk in a neat pile, close the box, and sit the girl down on a nearby chair. All with a single flick of the wrist. The child tried to get up but Jareth used his magic to keep her seated. Realizing that she was stuck, the child pouted and crossed her arm angrily across her chest.

_You're no fun!_

"Well you were making a mess of my documents, which I will have to rearrange later. You didn't leave me much of a choice child." The Goblin King walked back to his desk and finished writing his letter to the Council.

_You really don't remember me, do you?_

For a fleeting moment, the child's voice sounded as ancient as an Adina tree. Jareth turned in order to respond but all he found was an empty chair. The girl was gone. "Good riddance to that dancing, prancing, giggling illusion!" though Jareth. He rolled up his letter, sealed it, and gave it to the midnight messenger outsides the castle gates. The horsemen wore a long, dark cloak. His hood covered his face entirely. No one had ever seen the face of a midnight messenger, but they were loyal to the kingdom and had the fastest mode transportation in all of Underground – horses.

"Is that all your majesty?" asked the horsemen in a deep, gruff voice, His warm breath, which smelled faintly of meat, floated like smoke in the cold, night air.

"Yes," said the Goblin King, "that is all. Make sure it reaches the Council before the break of dawn."

The horsemen nodded in agreement before ridding west into the dark woods. Jareth returned to his castle where he found Borgath speaking with the head chef, Marfo, in the royal kitchen.

"…no it's not that. Sometimes I can hear him talking to himself. He has been acting rather str—"

"Spreading rumors Borgath? And behind my back? Now that's not very nice," interrupted Jareth crossing his arms.

"Your…your majesty!" stuttered Borgath nervously.

"For your sake, I hope you two were talking about the celery," said Jareth glancing at Marfo's cutting board, "If not, I'm afraid I'll have to throw you into the Bog of Eternal Stench, Borgath."

The goblin's beady eyes opened wide in fear. He stepped away from the Goblin King, nodding his head exaggerated vigor. Jareth enjoyed scolding the goblin. He would let him squirm, for now.

"Yes your majesty! We were talking about the celery! I would never even dare to defame your name oh Great Goblin King."

Borgath scratched his balding head nervously. Marfo went back to cutting celery, not wishing to involve himself any further.

"I sure do hope so Borgath. Why did you fail to bring me my elixir?" questioned the Goblin King.

"Sir…I was told that you did not wish to take your elixir tonight, seeing that they weren't helping."

"And who relayed this information to you?"

"Oh, a girl about half your height with white skin and yellow hair. She said she was a sister of yours."

"Borgath, have I ever told you that I have a sister?"

"Uh….no your majesty. But…"

"Have you ever heard rumors of me having siblings of any kind?"

"No sir but…"

"But what?"

"But she looked so much like you!"

Jareth hit Borgath on the back of his little, balding, scrawny head with one loud whack.

"I don't care if she told you she was one of the bloody Council Members! You answer to me only!" Jareth walked away from the two Goblins angrily.

"I didn't know your highness! I swear on my mother's grave!" called out Borgath rubbing his head.

"Isn't yer muter still alive, Borgath?" whispered Marfo.

"I have no time for you excuses," called back Jareth, not turning back, "just make sure it does not happen again orit will be your hide wallowing in the Bog."

Jareth reached his chambers and crawled into bed. "That useless goblin! He doesn't know his head from his feet! Everyone knows that I don't have anything even remotely close to a family. Even less likely a sister! Incompetent goblin, taking orders from a child" thought Jareth bitterly. However, his anger did not last for long. Jareth realized that he was too tired and sleepy to care about one goblin's mishap. Jareth drowsily removed his gloves and boots before falling into a deep and much welcomed slumber.

Reviews = me doing happy dance = inspiration to write more stories! Just saying.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: If any of you guys are looking for a good movie, watch V for Vendetta. It's absolutely striking. In the words of V: I hope you find my veracious volition to vindicate the viewing of this violescent and vibrantly vagarious virtu valid. But alas, I have veered far enough. I hope you guys like this chapter! And don't forget to review!**

"You're change ma'am." The cashier held out the two dollars and seventy-five cents in his gloved hand. Sarah reached out her hand to take her change from the man's outstretched hand. Her eyes trailed from the cashier's gloved hands to his pale arms, then to his face. That blonde, unruly hair, that face, those gloves, those ethereal discarded eyes.

"Jareth?" she gasped.

"Excuse me?" asked the perplexed cashier.

In the blink of an eye, Jareth's figure was replaced by a man in his mid-thirties, with brown short hair, and a red apron with the logo: Super A Foods.

"Oh, I'm sorry," apologized Sarah flushed pink with embarrassment, "…I thought you were someone I knew." The cashier nodded slowly and told her it was all right. He handed Sarah her bagged doughnuts; she took them abruptly, not looking at his face. She rushed out of the grocery store and into the crisp early morning. The parking lot was empty. Her little yellow bug was the only car in sight. There were no cars driving the streets, the lack of motion gave off a kind of peculiar silence. Sarah tossed the doughnuts in the backseat and headed towards work. Sarah had begun working for the Informant Newspaper for some time now. Besides writing the occasional fluff article, Sarah had taken calls, made coffee, filed papers, sent notices, and even delivered mail. To Sarah's great disappointment, her dream job ended up being that of a secretary masked by an over-puffed title.

"Assistant Junior Staff Writer," said Sarah aloud mockingly, "I'm a secretary for crying out loud! Call it what it is people!"

Sarah was one of the youngest employees of the Informer Newspaper, so she had expected that some merciful soul would be kind enough to show her the ropes during her first week there. Sarah was wrong. She had to figure out on her own that Jakob Riis' and Jacob Riely's mail was constantly mixed up and if the wrong mail was delivered to either of them, all hell would break loose. Sarah had to learn the hard way that Chief Editor Joseph Blitzkrieg loathed milk in his coffee and would rip her throat out the next time he had the displeasure of being handed a cup of that "putrid liquid".

Sarah learned that in the real world, everyone looks out only for themselves. She remembered back to the time she was in school, contemplating and planning out her future life as a world renowned author. Those days seemed so far away sitting behind a desk, filling away miscellaneous documents and delivering mail. Looking back at her plans, Sarah couldn't stop laughing.

"I had it all planed out," she though bitterly as she made a left turn on Vacuous Street, "I was going to graduate early, publish my novel, make the bestselling author's list, retire, and buy myself a quaint house in the middle of the woods, near a bakery so I would always wake at the sweet aroma of baking bread." She sighed sadly. "Such foolish dreams…"

Sarah's nostalgia was interrupted by the sharp, irritating "BRIING" of a telephone. She reached for her phone, which was in the cup holder, and inadvertently dropped it on the floor. She tried to kick it closer but the phone stopped ringing before it was within her grasp. Giving a frustrated groan, Sarah drove into the Inquirer Newspaper's parking lot. Her yellow bug stood out like sore thumb from the rows and rows of gray and black cars. Sarah remembered the first time she saw the massive building. She was so nervous and intimidated by the dark, atmospheric colors; that was the day of her interview. When she received news of her employment, she threw a party that very day and called all her friends, boasting about her new job. Those very friends laughed in her face once they knew she was nothing more than a secretary with a glorified title.

"Mr. Blitzkrieg wants to speak with you Sarah," said the receptionist with the fake blonde hair.

"What about?" questioned Sarah confused and slightly frightened. You never knew what could happen when Mr. Blitzkrieg asked to see you in his office.

"How am I supposed to know?" sassed the receptionist, not looking up from the computer screen, "What am I his mother?" Sarah walked away wearily. The sound of the receptionist acrylic nails clicking against the keyboard made Sarah's ears ring unpleasantly. She walked past the rows of dull beige cubicles, down to the editor's office. The door was left slightly ajar so Sarah knocked gingerly.

"Hello?" said Sarah timidly, "Mr. Blitzkrieg?"

"Enter!" bellowed a deep voice from within the room. Sarah poked her head inside the office and found it empty.

"Mr. Blitzkrieg?" Sarah asked again, unsure of what she should do.

"Do you have children?" asked the deep voice, coming from the black swivel chair facing the window.

"No sir" answered Sarah, wondering why he would ask her such a question.

"Well good for you! Never have children, they're all brats! 'Daddy! Daddy! I want this! Daddy! Daddy! I want that!' They'll suck you dry your very last penny and they'll never appreciate what you do for them! They're practically glued to the damn television and their laptops. Always listening to their little IPods; half of the time they can't hear a word I'm saying because of those stupid headphones. Don't kids go out and play anymore? Just play like tag or chutes and ladders or hide and go seek? No! They're _way_ to busy paying their videogames and updating their status every five minutes." The editor let out a deep sigh.

"I agree," said Sarah.

The editor had almost forgotten that she was in the room. He brusquely turned away from the bleak window and faced the Assistant Junior Staff writer.

"My brother's in the fourth grade," continued Sarah, "and he's one of the only kids I know who read for enjoyment. The rest of the class picks on him because he's always reading and he doesn't play videogames."

The room was silent for a moment. Sarah looked nervously at the ground, feeling she had said too much. Mr. Blitzkrieg was the one to break the silence.

"Well that was actually what I wanted to talk to you about, Sarah," the Editor crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, "One of our Senior Staff writers threw out her hip, Mrs. Kleever, do you know her?"

"Not personally," said Sarah, "I saw her in the coffee room once or twice. Oh, and I gave her her mail a few times. She works on the eleventh floor, right?"

"Yeah, she's the one. Anyways, she was supposed to write the front page story for this weekend's edition about kids and their technology nowadays. But now that she threw out her hip, she can't do any interviews let alone make the deadline, which is this Friday. Now a little bird told me that you're a good writer, so I took the liberty of looking over your articles and they were right. You have talent," the editor pated a manila folder on his desk, "Now I would hate to see a talented writer like yourself making coffee and delivering mail, so I'm going to offer you a chance. Now pardon me for being blatant, but I need to make sure you don't crack under pressure. I can't have a writer like that. That being said, I have to make sure you understand what I'm saying."

Sarah nodded, signaling for him to go on.

"I want you to write the front page story for this weekend's edition. If you succeed, you will be promoted to Staff Writer, meaning that you'll stop being a delivery girl and start writing articles. However, if you for any reason fail, it'll just prove to me that you can't handle the pressure of being a Staff Writer."

Sarah understood. If she took this chance she would either win or lose. Be promoted, or be doomed to deliver other people's mail forever.

"So Sarah," said the editor, rising from his chair, "What'll it be?"

Without hesitation, Sarah responded.

"I'll do it."


	3. Chapter 3

"Everything looks quite different from above," thought Jareth, "It all looks so infinitesimally small and quiet. The Goblin King flew above his kingdom in his owl form; he saw his stone castle, the Goblin City, and the Heap. The Heap had been growing for some time now. It was used by all the kingdoms as a place to dispose of their trash and unwanted things. Jareth knew of an old legend that the Goblins would tell. The story of how the Heap came to be. It goes a little like this…

Long, long, ago, when the kingdoms first formed, and the Council was relatively young, Underground had few subjects. However, as time passed, the Kingdoms grew, the subjects multiplied. And as any fool knows, subjects make trash. It wasn't too bad at first. They would dig enormous holes in the ground and bury their trash, but this only led to the land being barren, stinky, and uninhabitable. So instead, they tried burning their trash in enormous barrels; needless to say, this was a favorite of the Goblin's. They would even make it a celebration, along with wild reveling. They called them Fire Pit Dances. This too did not last. After all the kingdoms began burning their trash, the sky became black with ash. The smoke blotted out the sun. All of underground was cloaked in utter darkness for days and the Council was forced to ask for aid from the Dragons of the Ookole Mountains.

To this day, no one knows how they did it, but the Dragons managed to clear up the smoke. The Dragons, in turn, asked for nothing except a guarantee from the Council that no creature from Underground would venture into the Ookole Mountains. The Council agreed and declared across the Kingdoms the punishment for trespassing onto the Dragon's vicinity: death. Although this deal saved Underground from the darkness, the problem of too much trash and no place to put it, remained. The situation grew out of control fast. It reached a point to where the creatures of Underground were drowning in their own filth. After scourging Underground for months, the Council decided that the only place suitable for the plethora of garbage was the Outskirts. They were desolate, dry, and dead. Once the Council authorized it, all of the Kingdoms used the Outskirts as their dumping ground. It was quickly renamed the Heap.

Not so long afterwards, many claimed to see mound of trash move. Some even claimed that they heard the trash speak. Word spread and the Kingdoms grew anxious, less and less people were willing to go to the Heap to dispose of their filth in fear of these strange, unknown creatures. The creatures of Underground rallied together in fear and declared that they would resume burring and burying their trash until they were sure that the creatures of the Heap weren't dangerous. The Council irresolutely sent out a search party, and to their surprise, they discovered that the mound of trash were indeed creatures. They named them the trash people. How these creatures came to be is still unknown but there are a few popular theories. Many believe that Heap somehow accidentally came in contact with magic and thus resulted in the creation of the trash people. Some believe it was the doing of the council. Others believe that the trash, after being unwanted for so long, bonded with the other unwanted trash out of loneness. And though their similar longing, it formed the strange creatures. Despite the rumors and tale tales, the trash people were simple, docile creatures, who ate the trash in the Heap. Even though they posed no harm, the majority of Underground didn't like these creatures. In part, it was because they made the multitudes feel guilty about throwing their trash and unwanted things. No one liked going the Heap because you could see all of your garbage on the strained and hunched backs of the trash people. Just like the garbage they were made of, the trash people became despised and unwanted by all; destined to trudge along the mounds of filth forever, bitter and forgotten.

The Goblin King recalled the deal he had made with one of the trash people many years ago.

_When she takes a bite of the peach I sent her, she won't remember a thing. She will be submerged in her heart's innermost desire. She won't be able to refuse her dreams, not when they are right in front of her._

_Then watay need me fer?_

_Well if she manages to break through the charm, she still won't be able to remember anything. However, I need to make sure it stays that way. _

_So you wan me to lie to the little dearie?_

_Do what you must. Just take her to the facsimile of her room, make her believe that the child never existed. Soon she'll believe it was all a dream, she won't even be able to recognize the child's name. She will think that she is back with her toys and trinkets, just as long as she stays in the room I made her. Under no circumstances are you to let her escape._

_But yer majesty, what'll appen' to the dearie afterwards? Yer not gonna hurt er' are ya?_

_That is not your affair trash woman._

_And if I keep er' from leavin, you'll turn me into a birdie, right yer majesty?_

_Yes, yes, trash woman. You'll get your wish, but only if you keep her in her room._

_And what's the dearies name, yer majesty?_

_Sarah. Her name is Sarah._

The memories felt like lifetimes ago. She probably had already forgotten about him, classified their encounter as a crazed dream. But he would never forget her. Her sparking green eyes, her determined sprit, her fearless will. She had the strength of a thousand men and she didn't know it. No, the Goblin King would never forget Sarah. She was one of the few people Aboveground who could see magic. Even though she was now a young adult, in a way, she was still like a child. She understood, like children do, that magic is hidden in the most unlikely of places and in the most subtle of things. But what truly set her apart from everyone else was that she held onto her imagination. She refused to have it torn out of her heart by the society she lived in. See, what the majority of the people Aboveground didn't understand was that magic is in everything. It is in everyone. It is an invisible light that glows from the deepest part of a one's being. Magic is in the soft, cool, nigh breeze coming from an open window. Magic is in the smile of a stranger. Magic is in a single stroke of color on an empty white canvas. Magic is in the holding of hands. Magic is in the sweet melody of an antique music box. Magic is in a kind word. Magic is in a drop of rain.

Jareth could never understand why the people Aboveground chose to plod around in their daily routines, blinded to what would bring them true happiness. The Goblin King soared down and perched on a branch of an adina tree. From here, he could see the Goblin City. It hustled and bustled with life. Chatter scattered through the sinuous streets, prices were being bartered down. Goblin children played in the streets, dodging any nearby querley's and their riders. The querley were creatures ridden by the goblin guards during battles, but due to the prolonged period of relative peace, the Goblin King had allowed the trade and sale of querley to all in his kingdom. To some, his subjects might be considered as gross, obtuse, disgusting, cowardly, half-witted creatures. Oddly enough, Jareth was fascinated by the creatures he ruled over. Goblins did not try to be anyone but themselves. They could find contentment in the simplest of things: a jug of milk, reveling at the palace, a bowl of mugyark broth. Although he sometimes grew frustrated with them, the Goblin King admired his subjects and ruled over them to the best of his ability.

Jareth sensed a sudden change, a slight shift in the grand scheme of things. Something wasn't right. Jareth used his acute owl senses to track down the source of the change. It emanated from beyond the Goblin City. Jareth flew in that general direction and found himself at the entrance of the Labyrinth.

"That's odd," thought the Goblin King, "That can't be right." Jareth transformed into his humanoid form and placed a tentative hand on the stone wall. He saw it. The light was dimming. The Labyrinth's light was dimming. "This doesn't make any sense!" said Jareth aloud, quickly turning back into an owl. With a hurried beat of wings, the Goblin King commenced homeward.

Triddle was sweeping up the majesty's chambers when a huge owl flew through the window. Triddle, frightened by the large bird, tried to scare it off with his broom. He tried to knock it off of the majesty's desk but the bird flew away in time. Now it was flying all around the room making the most unpleasant squawking noises. Triddle covered his ears. He threw the broom at the screeching owl, and finally the squawking stopped. Triddle opened his eyes and uncovered his ears. There in front of him was the daunting Goblin King holding Triddle's broom. In an intimidating and rather scary manner, his majesty ordered Triddle out of his study. Running after the broom that the Goblin King threw aside, Triddle scurried out of the room and as far away as possible from the furious monarch. Triddle ran down to the kitchen and reported to his supervisor Fergedom. Fergedom didn't like Triddle at all. He didn't like his pointy ears, his small, stubby fingers, and his green hat that he always wore. In all truth Fergedom wanted to eat Triddle's hat but he could never seem to distract Triddle long enough to get it. So instead, Fergedom tried relentlessly to get Triddle in trouble so as punishment Fergedom could take his luscious green prize.

"I'm all done sweepin the highnesses chambers Mr. High Supervisor Sir" said Triddle.

"Well, now go and clean the chamber pots! And mop the halls! And feed the querley! And give me yer hat!" responded the fat little supervisor.

"Well Mr. High Supervisor Sir, all do all that you asked but I can't give ya me hat."

Triddle put his hands on his head defensively, trying to protect it from his hungry supervisor.

"Lookie here sqiunklet, I don't know who ya think ya are, but I'm the Mr. High Supervisor Sir, and you have to do everything I say!"

"No. I'm not givin you my hat sir!"

"Get over here!" said Fergedom as he tried to pounce on Triddle. Triddle dodged the obese goblin with ease for it was rather hard for Fergedom to do anything with a belly of that size. Triddle ran away with his broom and Fergedom fell on his face.

"Not my hat! Not my hat!" screamed Triddle as he ran off into the southern corridor.

Fergedom bushed himself off from another failed attempt. "Oh luscious green hat," he though, "I will have you one way or another! I swear it!"

Triddle hid in the dark corridors. He could feel his heart beating in his head and in his arms. He was out of breath. "It's my hat!" he said softly to himself in a reassuring manner, "My hat." Triddle pulled his hat close to his chest. It was the only thing he had to remember his parents. His parents left him at the castle when he was only four years old. They didn't even leave a note. All they left was a quiet little baby with a green hat. Triddle often wondered why his parents gave him away. Could they not feed me? Did I cry too much? Did they not like me? When one of the guards found baby Triddle, they dressed Triddle up in a coarse robe made of a brown sack of grain. They put a broom in his hand and told him to clean. And Triddle cleaned. He moped, and swept, and washed, and dusted. He cleaned and cleaned until he asked himself: Why am I cleaning? Then Triddle stopped. He had never asked himself that question, but he felt like it needed an answer. So he asked his current supervisor, which at the time was the strong and mighty Bronchelous the third. Bronchelous the third told Triddle that he cleaned because he had to clean. He told Triddle that his parents left him at the palace because he was too weak and skinny, but if Triddle worked hard and got strong, Triddle's parents would come back for him. Triddle then vowed to work harder than anyone else in the entire palace. He spent the next seven years of his life scrubbing the palace clean top to bottom till' his hands became callused and scabbed. But alas, Triddle's parents never came. Then the war between the dragons and the sirens came and Triddle's supervisor, Bronchelous the third, had to leave to join the war effort. He died a valiant death on the battlefield, and Fergedom was appointed to be Triddle's new supervisor. Triddle waited patiently for his parents but they never came. So one day, he asked his new supervisor Fergedom, when his parents were going to pick him up. Fergedom laughed in Triddle's face, his breath smelled like onions along with the remnants of rotten eggs, and told Triddle that his parents were never picking him up, that no matter how hard Triddle scrubbed and bled, no one would come for him. Triddle stopped working for a long time and he was punished, but he didn't care. Because now Triddle knew that there was absolutely no one in the world that loved him, and that fact was more painful than any kind of punishment Fergedom could come up with. But soon, Triddle noticed that Fergedom took an interest in his hat. Fergedom wanted to take it away from him and Triddle could not allow that. So Triddle began working again, not with his past vigor, but just enough to scuttle by and keep Fergedom's claws off his green hat. Triddle finished moping the floors and scrubbing the walls of the great hall. He walked to the kitchen to drop off his bucket of suds and mop but he was stopped by one of the royal chefs.

"His majesty needs his tea." said the chef thrusting a silver platter into Triddle's hands. Atop the platter sat a quaint little teapot, steaming with scalding tea.

"But Mr. Chef Sir, his highness don't seem to be too well today." said Triddle wanting to avoid the scary Goblin King at all costs.

"All da' better! Tea always helps his ailments!" said the chef pushing Triddle into the southwestern corridor, "Now go on! He's in his study."

Triddle didn't want to go. He really didn't want to go. But if he refused to do so, Fergedom might take away his hat. So Triddle charily tip toed to the King's study. Triddle pushed the door open cautiously and peeked inside. The study was a mess; papers with the royal seal were all over the place. The King was sorting and throwing and searching like a madman until he came at a standstill. He let out a deep sigh and sat down at his desk. He picked up the yellow rose on his desk and looked at it with amazement. Triddle was amazed that the King was amazed because Triddle had only seen the King's face showing annoyance or intimidation. Then the king let the rose drop to the ground, and grabbed a pile of papers sitting on the desk. He looked intently at one paper in particular. He sat there motionless, holding the document. Triddle couldn't even hear him breathe. Triddle walked into the study, deciding to take advantage of the Kings momentary tranquility, and stood at the side of the quiet monarch.

"Sire, your tea." said Triddle tentatively.

The King stayed inert. He looked only at the paper in his hands.

Triddle carefully placed the tea tray on the King's desk. He was on his way to leave but then he heard the King mumble something that sounded something like "Get me the cane".

"Your cane sir?" asked Triddle perplexed. From what he knew, his majesty didn't have a liking for canes.

"It's being drained" sad the King a little louder.

"Excuse me sire?" asked Triddle walking back to the King' desk.

"The Labyrinth, it's being drained." said the King more to himself than to Triddle as he rubbed his aching temples.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: May is National Strawberry Month and strawberries are delicious, so if you have a turtle, give them a few. They will love you forever. I'm not kidding, turtles are crazy about strawberries. Enough randomness, on to the story. **

"So, what's do you like to do on your free time?" Sarah asked the girl in front of her. Sarah had interviewed about a dozen kids for the story she was writing. The editor said that the story had to be on the youth culture and their tie to technology, but that in itself was a very vague subject. Sarah took this as the green light to a little wiggle room on the specific topic of her article. Some of the kids were cooperative, but some just answer her questions with an apathetic yes or no. This irritated her to no end, but then again, they were just children living in their one small worlds of adolescence. It would be unrealistic of her to expect these children to answer her questions truthfully. She was a stranger and the kids didn't know her. It was understandable that they would hold back some of their thoughts, uncertain of what they should reveal to the lady with the tape recorder. However, unlike most of the kids, the girl Sarah was interviewing had been pretty cooperative.

"Uh…like hanging out with my friends and going on Facebook and stuff like that" answered the girl.

The girl wore a red Hollister polo shirt and some skin tight jeans. When Sarah first saw her, she wondered how the girl managed to walk without splitting her pants. She had wavy red hair that came up to her shoulders, her bangs were clipped back by a bobby pin, revealing her lightly spray tanned skin.

"You like going on Facebook?" asked Sarah.

"Doesn't everyone?" responded the girl as she took out her phone and started texting her friend Brianna.

"Uh, well some people prefer to do other things during their free time, like painting or playing cards" said Sarah.

"Cards are fun as long as I'm the one who's winning."

"I see. So you enjoy texting on your phone too?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"I know this might seem like a silly question, but how do you think your life would like without a phone or a computer?"

"Oh gosh," said the girl a little louder that Sarah has expected. The girl sent her friend Brianna a TTYL text and put her phone in her pocket. She patted the distended jean pocket, which look more like a tumor to Sarah, and looked at Sarah.

"I'd die," said the girl, "Seriously I would die. I mean come' on! No Facebook! No texting! How could people possibly live like that? That's why I refuse to go camping. There's no signal in the middle of camp god-knows-where. How am I supposed to stay connected to civilization without my phone? And why would people want to sleep in sleeping bags in tents when they have a temperpedic bed at home?"

"I take it you don't like the outdoors," said Sarah chuckling softly.

"It's not that I don't _like_ the outdoors, it's just that the outdoors don't like _me_. I swear, every time I get dragged into visiting my aunt, which lives in the middle of nowhere, I always get like ten mosquito bites! And they always bite me on my face so they look like pimples except their itchy and their twice as ugly. It's super gross. Besides I get bored to death without my phone."

"Well there are other forms of entertainment."

"Like what?" asked the girl, raising an eyebrow questionably.

"Well, reading for example," Sarah offered.

"Eww. You call _that_ entertainment? Reading is like so boring. It's so stupid that schools make us read stupid books that are so freaking boring. Like I really need to know about some kid who has memories and sees colors and stuff, it's retarded. Everyone can see colors and have memories! It's common sense! I swear, such idiots."

"Are you referring to the book The Giver?"

"Yeah, all the sixth graders have to read it for English. But I didn't, I did the smart thing and spark notes'd it."

"So you've never read a book for enjoyment?"

"Never, I have way better things than to sit around, wasting my time reading a stupid book."

The girl said the word "book" with such disdain; you could literally see the hate rolling off her tongue. This angered Sarah, but she bottled her rage. The red-haired girl reminded Sarah of a girl who used to bully her in high school but Sarah tired her best to push that idea out of her mind.

"So, if you were given a choice to outlaw books from America, would you do so?"

"Duh."

"And if suddenly a meteorite shower damaged all of the satellites orbiting earth, and the service from your phone was cut off indefinitely, how would you react?"

"I'd die. That's what I'd do."

The rest of the interview went by pretty much the same way they did with the red haired girl. Whenever Sarah mentioned reading or books, every kid would give her a glare of disgust as if she had deeply offended them. No one like reading. It was either too boring, too stupid, or her personal favorite: "Only nerds read". The kids she interviewed would rather text on their phones, go one Facebook, watch TV, or play videogames that even considering picking up a book.

Sarah left the middle school morosely and somewhat disappointed. "If only they knew what they were missing!" though Sarah sadly. Then it came to her. The most wonderfully and utterly perfect idea!

"I got it!" she exclaimed, "That's my article right there! I can see it now! "Books: An Endangered Species". It'll be all about the battle between literature and technology over influence on children! All about how kids are so sucked into the TV screen that they don't have a chance to enjoy books!

Sarah smiled. Now, she knew what she had to do, what she needed to do. Energy renewed and mood heightened, Sarah felt purposeful. She opened the door to her bright yellow car and plopped in the front seat. She opened all of the windows and slipped in her Ella Fitzgerald CD. The vocalist's sweet soulful voice came on, accompanied by a brass trumpet. Sarah swayed to the irresistible jazz beat and drummed her fingers in tune on the steering wheel. She sang at the top of her lungs …"A tisket a tasket! I lost my yellow basket!" Any pedestrian would have mistaken her for a lunatic, singing loudly off tune, with the windows wide open. But she didn't care. She was happy and no one could take that away from her. Not in the electric neon light of the 5:37 on her digital clock. Not in the soft, warm breeze of midday. Not in the light of Ella's honey voice. Not in the…

Then Sarah saw him. A thin, tall, monarch, dressed in leather boots and gloves and some light grey tights. He was strutting along the street in a gallant manner. Sarah stared at him in amazement. The Goblin King then meet Sarah perplexed jade eyes and Sarah uttered one surprised word, "Schmit…" before she noticed the large SUV she unknowingly was speeding towards. The squeal of the brakes, which sounded more like the cries of some deranged animal, shocked Sarah back to life. The driver of the SUV shouted a long line of some rather obscene insults before he sped away. With wide eyes and shaky hands, she pulled over and parked on the side of the road near a Target.

The buzz of red target sign irritated Sarah. It was so loud Sarah cringed and covered her ears. She put her head in her lap and waited for the tears to come, for the shock of having a near death situation, but she sat motionless. She held her breath, she shut her eyes, and she detached herself from the scene. She was no longer Sarah. Sarah was the girl crying in the front seat of that yellow car. No, she was the wind, and what she really wanted to do was watch the stop light. So, in an almost dreamlike state, Sarah counted how many times the light changed. She whispered it softly, like a frightened repetitious, song,

"…red…green…yellow…red…green…yellow…red…green…yellow…red…" trying to drown out the fact that she did not hit the brakes.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Allo! I'd like to thank all the people who have taken the time to read my story. I appreciate all your lovely comments and suggestions. Also, I apologize for not being able to post any new chapters. I've been extremely busy but I am determined on finishing this story. Anyways, totally random fact: Apatura ilia butterflies sometimes eat decaying meat. Freaky? I think so. On a less creepy note, I hope you all enjoy reading this chapter! It took me a really long time to write but I hope it was worth the wait.**

"I have gathered you all here today to address a problem that has been overlooked for some time now," said Jareth in a loud, clear voice. His audience was composed of the heads of the kingdoms and the Council, who sat gravely and quietly, waiting for Jareth to complete his statement. "I am sure all of you are very well capable of running your own kingdoms but this problem concerns all of us. The Labyrinth, as you all know, is the source of all of the magic in Underground. In the past centuries, Underground has experienced great turmoil when any harm came to the Labyrinth. You can all relate to the mass hysteria during the past Siren-Dragon war; quakes tore the land and plagued our kingdoms. The harsh drought also claimed the lives of many of our people. If you all recall, this turmoil took place around the same time the hybrids accidentally blew up a small section of the Labyrinth while trying to infiltrate the Dragon's nest. The Labyrinth regenerated of course, but during the time that the Labyrinth was weak, Underground suffered the most."

"You can't really expect us to believe that the damage to the Labyrinth caused the quakes or the droughts, Goblin King," remarked the Queen of the Sirens skeptically, tossing her excessively jeweled hands in the air.

"What are you getting at Goblin King?" growled the Hybrid King, "My soldiers are not responsible for the drought or the quakes. I will not have you slander their good names!" The Hybrid king pounded his fist angrily into the armrest of his throne. His dark eyes danced wildly with fire. The Hybrid King had always had a temper but his little spittle of furry threw the Council off-guard.

"Princeps Lupus, the Council would appreciate it if you refrain from shouting. We meet here peacefully and do not wish for our gathering to end up in yet another brawl that our people will have to pay dearly for," said one of the Council members calmly but coldly.

The Council members all nodded their heads in agreement. They all wore robes of white, rumored to be made from the purest morning light, and a black sash across their chests. They were immortal fae, the wisest and the most beautiful of creatures in all the land. They had pale skin like the dead and eyes as silver as the moon which glowed ever so slightly. No one had ever touched a member of the Council, but there were always tales claiming that whoever touched them would turn to ice. Many feared the council and their esoteric power but everyone knew that the Council could always be trusted to be just. The High Court was their domain; their rulings were regarded by all as the epitome of justice. They did not speak very often, preferring to write letters and notes to communicate. Whenever they spoke, they were heard. The Kingdoms always took the Councils advice in times of trouble, never doubting the pale creature's knowledge.

The Hybrid King calmed himself, steadying his breath and averting his eyes from the Goblin King. He was dressed in royal blue embellished with gold; his body covered in light coat of dark brown fur. The monarch had come from a long line of respected wolf-humanoid hybrids and fought passionately for his subjects. Of all the Kingdoms, he had the greatest variety of subjects. Everything from centaurs to pig people, sadly this meant that the Hybrid kingdom was constantly at the brink of civil war. Race superiority issues constantly clouded the troubled king's mind so whenever other kingdoms criticized his subjects, he became especially aggressive. His own people criticized each other enough already; he did not need the Goblin King's denunciation of his subjects, much less in front of the Council.

"I did not mean any offense Hybrid King," apologized Jareth, "I am sorry if my word came on as an attack on your people."

The Hybrid King brought his eyes to the Goblin King's and saw that he was truly sorry. The fire in the hybrids eyes was extinguished by the sincerity of Jareth's apology. The room was silent for a while, witnessing the tacit events taking place.

"So, Goblin King, why exactly did you drag us out of beds at this ungodly hour? Only to lecture us on your precious Labyrinth?" riposted Luceat, a fae- fox hybrid.

Jareth was silent, "What is she doing here?" though Jareth, irritated by the illusionist presence.

"May I ask for what reason I have the great privilege of being in the presence of this talented illusionist?" asked Jareth sarcastically, "She hasn't the seal of a monarch, so unless she has become the Queen of the Zephyrs overnight, I believe she doesn't have the authority to be here," snarled Jareth, no longer masking his blatant hate.

"You flatter me Goblin King!" said Luceat with a toothy smile, showing off her sharpened canines, "  
Well If you really must know, my uncle has been very sick of late and was not well enough to attend this little meeting of yours. So I did the honorable thing and offered to take his place."

"Oh, how unexpectedly sweet of you," mocked Jareth.

Although Luceat was a fae-fox hybrid by birth, she would always use a glamour spell to mask her foxlike features, save her teeth of course. She was one of the most beautiful ladies in the Kingdom but she was very vain. Her vanity often drove away any suitor that dared approach her. Besides, the fact that Luceat had no intentions of marrying was very clear to everyone. Although she had never publicly proclaimed her decision, it was a silent truth understood by all.

"We haven't all day Goblin King!" grumbled the Monster King, "I have a lot of issues to attend to in my own kingdom. Can you just tell us what is concerning you?"

"Fine then, I do not wish to prolong your stay here. All I wish is to send a warning of sorts. I received an anonymous letter not too long ago stating that the peace between the kingdoms would soon diminish and that we should be diligent."

"Did you perceive the letter as an authentic threat?" questioned the Monster King.

"Maybe it was just a childish joke. Practically anyone with a brain can write a simple letter," scoffed the Queen of the Sirens.

"We really don't need another war," ached the Hybrid King, "I believe we should be especially attentive to any threats against the peace."

"I attempted tracing the letter, but whoever wrote it shielded the letter with a rather complex charm," explained Jareth.

"Ha! Finally something our great Goblin King can't do," Luceat jeered.

"Forgive me Duchess. I'm not nearly as advanced in reversing charms as I am in casting them. Much like yourself," said Jareth allowing himself the pleasure of a small smile.

One of the council members raised their pale hands, signaling that they wished to interject. She signaled to a nearby esquire and whispered in his ear. She handed him a note and the esquire walked to the center of the conference room. The esquire cleared his throat nervously; he was never much of a public speaker. "The Council has asked me to read their note aloud," he squeaked. "It says, 'We believe all the Kingdoms should take heed to the Goblin King's warning. If the Labyrinth is under attack, all of us will suffer. This meeting should serve as a reminder that our peace is not invincible. We must work together and be assiduous against any threat."

The esquire scuttled out of view, silently cursing himself for sitting so close to the Council. With that, the Council members stood up and began exiting the conference room. They moved like a body of water, flowing and connected. The remaining monarchs chattered for a bit, discussing certain trading agreements and treaties.

After a few cordial "farewells" the Goblin King left the room. It was foggy outside; the sun had not yet rose. The early morning light was dim and grey. Jareth walked away slowly from the conference room, he was in no hurry. He was truly surprised that the Council had taken his side. He had not been held in their highest regard of late. "That isn't fair of them," said Jareth playfully to the trees, "I guess they can't see how fabulous I am." Jareth knew the Council didn't like him. Jareth even had a feeling that the Council despised him, yet they took his side. "And why would that be?" Jareth mused.

Jareth looked back at the conference room but it was nowhere to be seen. He smiled; the Council's magic was already working. For security reasons, the conference room was hidden in the densest part of the woods, and in addition to that, it was covered by an invisibility cloak. Many didn't understand the Councils complex shielding spells and charms, but Jareth had studied them for some time now. Jareth had a theory that the conference room, or any place shielded by the Council's magic for that matter, was protected by a fallacies spell. A fallacies spell was a charm that allowed someone to travel from one point to another in a matter of moments. Humans referred to it as "teleportation". However, the tricky thing about a fallacies spell was that once you were "teleported" to your destination, you couldn't return back to the starting point. The other really annoying thing about fallacies spells was that the vessel used in the charm would disintegrate once you arrived to your destination. The Council used this to their advantage, to keep their location of their conference room secure.

Jareth was tired, sleepy, and he wanted nothing more than to go home, but he stopped for a moment to take in the scenery. The woods were quiet, peaceful even. But despite their sometimes beautiful appearance, the woods were one of the most dangerous places in Underground. Unknown creatures lurked in the shadows, ready to devour anything that was stupid enough to venture too close to the darkness. They were, however, no danger to the Goblin King. Being highly talented in defensive magic, the monarch could detain any creature up to ten times his size. But why risk ruining his new coat with an unnecessary battle when it would be so much easier to just fly away? Being the reasonable thing to do, Jareth transformed into a barn owl and flew homeward. He hadn't slept a wink since he discovered the unsettling news. "The Labyrinth is being drained," though Jareth in disbelief, "I still can't believe it's true." The scattered pattern of the dark sinuous trees below left an odd feeling in the Goblin King's stomach. He didn't mind dark and creepy, but was really sent chills down Jareth's spine was the fact that the landscape was scattered and disorganized. From above, the tree's looked like dark, skinny arms reaching out to drag him into their abyss of darkness. Jareth knew that trees were actually pretty friendly up close, but from far away, they gave him the creeps.

Jareth saw two figures amongst the trees that didn't belong. The appeared to be monsters but he was far away to know for sure. "What in the world would a monster be doing around these parts? And at this hour?" wondered Jareth. Monsters liked to live in groups and very rarely ventured out of their realm, unless it was necessary for survival of course. But from what Jareth knew, the Monster kingdom hadn't experienced any famines or water shortages. A Jareth soared closer to the figures, he noticed that one of them was indeed a monster but the other looked more like a siren. "Now that's odd," though Jareth. Intrigued he flew closer to the figures and perched on the branch of a nearby tree. It was dead, the rooting wood wouldn't do a good job of sustaining Jareth's owl form, but he couldn't resist sneaking in on this obscure little meeting.

"We need five barrels by tonight," said the monster that appeared to be male. He wore commoner's clothes but the monster satchel, which was slung loosely over his shoulder, was made of quality conquie skin.

"Milady said that she won't be sending you any more barrels until you completed last month's shipment," replied the siren. She appeared very young, fifteen or so, estimated Jareth. Around the time half-bloods got their fins. Half-bloods were human girls, taken in by the sirens. They were taught from a young age the ways of the sirens; and when the time came, the girls would undergo inmutatio – the change. The transformation from human to siren was gradual, oftentimes taking as long as five months. The siren below still had her legs, so Jareth guessed that she was most likely in the early stages of inmutatio.

"Gah! We're breaking our backs over at the mines to complete shipments! Could you're lady show some mercy?" implored the monster, anxiously brushing his tangerine fur with his comb-like claws.

"Miladay specifically ordered me not to negotiate. The deal has been struck and if you don't carry out your end of the bargain, we will be forced to terminate our agreement." The monster saw the sirens cold eyes; there would be no mercy today.

"Ma'am, we're working as fast as we can out there. Perhaps if you give us a barrel or two today, we could complete the shipment by the end of the week," pleaded the monster. The siren stared at the monster, unmoved by his pleas for another bargain. In a split second, the siren reached out and grabbed one of the monsters horns and yanked on it, pulling him off the ground. "I said – it's not for negotiation," hissed the siren.

_You shouldn't spy on people, Jareth. It's rude._

"Oh please! Not this again!" thought Jareth. He had had enough of that menacing little voice. He knew that the little girl was nothing more than an illusion, a puppet.

_Come down from there! I need to tell you something!_

Jareth tried his best to ignore the voice. "Go away," thought Jareth extremely irritated, "…get out of my head! I am in the middle of something."

_It's called spying, Jareth._

"Just ignore it Jareth," he thought to himself, "You won't keep me from uncovering this scheme with your childish games Luceat!"

The tree started to shake. Jareth looked down and lo and behold was the dancing, prancing child that broke into his study not too long ago. She was shaking the tree, signaling for him to come down.

"You're kidding me?" though Jareth as he clung onto the branch for dear life. If he moved, the individuals he was "spying" on might notice him. Well even though no one knew that he had the ability to turn into an owl, birds were very rare Underground. They might get suspicious, or worse, they might try to capture him.

The Goblin King tried using his magic to get the girl to stop shaking the damn tree but he was too tired to even try casting a charm. He felt completely drained; his energy was running out quickly. The little girl shook the tree with all her might, and with one piercing crack, the branch broke and the Goblin King fell to the forest floor with a dense thud. He didn't even have enough energy to fly off the branch before it cracked. Now he was on the hard dirt floor, amongst the dead scattered leaves moist with dew. Now he would never find out about the siren and the monsters secret arrangement. Jareth tried to get himself up, but the most he could manage was a sideways flop. He couldn't move his wing. He figured it must have broken on impact.

"Well that's great," he though. It would only take a few days to heal, but still, falling out of a tree was simply to embarrassing to bear.

_Oh goodness! I didn't mean to hurt you!_

"You should of thought of that before you shook the damn tree!" though Jareth as he tried to flop away from the little girl who was rushing towards him. She picked him up gently, carefully not to move his wing.

_You're so heavy! What have you been eating?_

The little girl laughed softly. Jareth was tired and even though he was now literally in the hands of an illusion of a five year old that was most likely conjured up by his worst enemy, Jareth felt calm. In the hands of the little girl, he felt safe. An odd kind of familiarity overtook him. The girls hand were soft and comforting, they smelled like earth and clove.

After binding his wing, the girl brought his face to hers.

_I just wanted to talk to you silly. _

Jareth cooed apologetically.

_Someone needs to see you. I think it's important. _

The girl sat down on the ground, her back leaning against the tree trunk. She placed the injured Goblin King on a bed of soft shrubs and began to walk away. Jareth didn't want her to leave. He didn't want to be alone in the darkness. He screeched after her. The little girl ran back to him.

_Don't worry. You'll be safe. I promise. _

The little girl bent down and kissed the top of Jareth's feathery head. The sun was rising. The soft orange twilight illuminated the child. For a moment, she actually looked like a real.

_Go to sleep._

The little girl hushed the Goblin King to sleep, murmuring soft words that flowed from her like sunlight. Jareth tired to keep his eyes open but his fatigue was too much. Within moments, the Goblin King was submerged in the darkness of his dreams. But it was okay. She was here. She would protect him, May would protect him.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: For all of you who don't know what okra is, it's a vegetable that looks like a green pepper but has the insides of a tomato and people like to put it in their gumbo. Hope you all enjoy this chapter and don't forget to comment!

"Sarah, can we get some okra?" asked Toby. He was hanging on to the edge of the shopping cart which his big sister was pushing unenergetically. Already having the bag of frozen goodness in his hand, he aimed to throw the okra in the cart.

"Toby, we're having noodles tonight. I don't think that would be a good combination," said Sarah reaching for the bag of okra. But Toby was too fast, he moved his hand away before Sarah could take it away.

"Snack Disaster Averted. Looks like my sister isn't thinking too clearly tonight, who can possibly resist something as yummyfull as okra? I'm going to have to win her over with one of my incredible feat of precision and balance," contemplated the young boy. In an effort to keep his sister from depriving him of his sweet, sweet okra, Toby threw the bag in the air like a skilled juggler and calculated where the okra would fall. He stood with the most fantastic posture in that spot so when the bag would come down, it would land atop his head. He would shout a triumphant "Voila", bow without dropping his frozen bag of a crown and Sarah would gasp in delight and everyone would applaud his skillful skills. She would immediately agree to buy him all the okra his heart desired and everyone in the store would forever remember him as the boy with the utterly fantastic throwing skills.

Unfortunately, Toby miscalculated by a slight inch and the bag of okra fell on the ground to his left. In that split second before the bag touched the floor, Toby knew the universe was laughing at his failure.

"Pick it up and put it away," said Sarah without emotion, not even annoyance, as she absent mindedly scanned the rows of pasta. Toby accepted his punishment and lethargically scooped up the bag of okra and threw it on top of a box of linguini pasta.

"Go put it where it belongs, Toby" ordered Sarah, this time with annoyance. It was one her biggest pet peeves when people would leave things were they didn't belong.

"But that's on the other side of the store!" complained Toby.

"I don't care. Now scram," said Sarah shooing her irritating brother away.

Toby walked off, in search of the rows of massive industrial size freezers while his sister scooted the shopping cart into the checkout line. The woman in front of Sarah was talking extremely loud, practically on the verge of shouting. She had a toddler, dressed in meadow green onesie with a washed out ketchup stain, sitting in her shopping cart. The toddler was entertaining itself by setting up and knocking down some soda cans that were also in the cart. The woman was arguing with the cahier about one coupon or the other and from the looks of it, the loud lady was winning. The cashier shriveled in comparison to the woman. She was loud, large, and tough looking and the cashier… well he was a short, balding, skinny man. Poor thing didn't have a chance. Sarah found it fascinating that an ordinary trip to the grocery store could result in such an occurrence which, through the right spectrum of analysis, could be similarly compared to a nature show on Discovery Planet.

"The only difference between us and animals is that we have opposable thumbs," though Sarah, "It's all just a bitter fight for survival; no matter how "civilized" we become, humanity will never quite be able to evolve the savage animal out of their blood. We dress it up and make it look pretty but we've been playing this ancient game since our birth. The universal law that all organisms must abide by: eat or be eaten."

Sarah knew that people thought of her as a pessimist. She measured her actions by the cons, not the pros. To her, it was safer to be bitter, to expect the worst. Hope was a dangerous thing. In Sarah's opinion, it could destroy you. She had been disappointed many times throughout her life because she had hoped for too much. But never again would she make that same mistake.

"Hello!" said a voice tearing Sarah from her cynical mental spiel. A little girl with long light brown hair who was standing behind Sarah waved anxiously at her. Sarah looked behind her, checking to see if the little girl has waving to someone else but no one was behind her.

"Do you like my rainbow?" asked the little girl, directly looking at Sarah. The girl pointed to a painted rainbow on her right cheek.

"It's looks nice," replied Sarah with a small smile. She was surprised by the little girl's boldness; kids her age wouldn't particularly go out and strike up conversations with random strangers in the checkout line.

"You like it? Look! I also have a watermelon," said the little girl pointing to her left check, "…and I have a mustache." The girl stroked her upper lip which had a curvy smear of dark brown paint.

Sarah noticed that the little girl also had a blue dot of paint on the tip of her nose and was about to ask her if it was meant to resemble a blueberry but the cashier had accepted the loud lady's coupon, even though it had been expired for two weeks now, and the cashiers had begun scanning Sarah's items. The irritating bleeb bleeb of the scanner reminded Sarah of her irritating little brother, who still hadn't returned from the frozen foods section. She searched the aisles for the face of her little brother but he wasn't in sight.

"He'll come sooner or later," though Sarah trying to bury that little worried voice in the depths of thoughts, "…he can take care of himself."

"Excuse me? Ma'am," said the cashier clearing his throat, "that'll be $33.25."

"Oh," said Sarah a little surprised at the price, "Here you go." Sarah handed the cashier her credit card.

After the transaction went though, the cashier unenthusiastically said "Have a nice day" and turned his attention to the next person in line.

"Pasta, corn, ice cream, mustard, flour…" thought Sarah as she began bagging her grocery's, checking off all the things in her mental list. She placed the bags in the shopping cart but was surprised to see that the cart was already half full. The little girl that Sarah was talking to earlier was chatting up a storm with her little brother Toby, who was bagging the groceries for the past minute or so unbeknownst to Sarah.

"When the heck did he get here?" thought Sarah, "Sneaky little scoundrel." Sarah couldn't help but smile at the scene unfolding before her. Toby was never confident with girls or any other kids his age for that matter, and here he was, having a full blown conversation with a strange little girl. And they were bagging food and putting it away without Sarah having to ask anything of them. She didn't even know they were there and they had already packed up half of the cart with bagged groceries. Sarah knew this was a once in a lifetime thing. "Where in the world is a camera when you need one?" though Sarah. It wasn't long before the kids had bagged up all the groceries and packed them in the cart. They were so absorbed in their own conversation that they hadn't even recognized Sarah's presence.

"So, you've got everything all bagged up," said Sarah interrupting the children's dialogue.

Both kids turned and looked at Sarah with the most confound expression on their faces.

"Yeah…" said Toby. But his face was sending a completely different message: When did _you_ get here?

"Okay well say bye to your friend. We're leaving."

Toby looked at his sister then at the little girl. "Now?" asked Toby obviously not wanting to go.

"Yes now," said Sarah walking off with the cart heading towards the automatic sliding doors.

"Wait up!"Toby implored, certain that his sister would abandon him if she had the chance.

"Bye Toby!" shouted the little girl as Toby ran to catch up with his sister.

The sun had already set. It was dark outside. The only light source nearby was the yellow weak light emanating from the tall skinny lamppost in the grocery store parking lot. It was like a game of I Spy trying to find his sister, Toby thought. He was out of breath once he found her unloading the white plastic bags into the trunk of her yellow buggy. Clinging to the side of the car, trying to catch his breath, Sarah asked her brother a question.

"Is she a classmate of yours?"

"No."

"Do you know her?"

"No"

"Well how does she know your name?"

"I told her."

"Ah. I see."

Sarah and Toby climbed into the car after packing away all the food. Following the click of seatbelts fastening and the engine starting, the siblings were on the road heading home. Sarah was surprised that Stella had invited her to a small surprise dinner party they were having for Toby. He was turning seven this weekend but Stella wanted to have a mini celebration early, just for the family. Actually, that's why Sarah dragged her little brother to the store in the first place, to get him out of the house. By now, Stella was probably still cleaning like a person suffering from obsessive compulsive disorder, and her father was most likely doing the last finishing touches on all of Toby's favorite dishes. It had felt like years had gone by since Sarah last stepped into the house of her past. Sure, they had invited her over plenty of times, Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas, but Sarah could never quite make it. She would always excuse her absence with the whole "I'm busy, maybe some other time" routine, but deep down inside, Sarah knew that she was just avoiding a confrontation. Sarah and her stepmom were never on the best of terms but they got along well enough to function normally in front of Toby. That's what mattered right now–Toby.

"What were those kids talking about?" wondered Sarah, thinking back to the girl in the checkout line. Sarah was right their besides them during their little conversation but she was too busy looking at them to actually pay attention to what they were saying. Beside what kind of child would have the guts to go up to a complete stranger and just start talking to them like they knew each other? The strange child had too much confidence and trust in the world, would that be considered bravery or naivety? It felt weird calling her a stranger even though Sarah and Toby didn't know her. Maybe it was because she was a child and it just sounds weird referring to a child as a stranger. But maybe it was because the little girl reminded Sarah of someone. She just couldn't pin-point who. "I'm going to rack my brains trying to figure out who it is!" though Sarah.

"Hey, Toby. What did that girl tell you?" asked Sarah. She knew she was being nosy but she really didn't care.

"Nothing" said her brother, looking out of the window.

"Really? Nothing at all?"

"Nothing you'd be interested in."

"Okay, okay, then. I didn't mean to pry into your very private conversation."

Toby didn't mean to make his sister mad. They were just talking about their favorite books and superheroes and okra but Sarah didn't want to know about that.

"But she did say something about you." said Toby, remembering one of the girl's brief comments.

"What did she say?" asked Sarah, glancing at the rear view mirror to look at her little brother.

"She said you knew her brother."


	7. Chapter 7

**Ollo! (Sorry… I love Megamind) I've been dying to finish up this chapter for the longest time! You would think, it being summer and all, that I'd have tons of time. But life has a nasty habit of getting in the way, doesn't it? Anyways here it is! I told myself I would finish it today and after some shouting (mainly with myself), I have done it! Enjoy **

_I open my eyes and I see is ash falling from the sky like snow. There is nothing left. They are all gone, lost in the fire forever. The trees, extending outwards to the sky, cry in agony. The fire, leaving scorch marks on their bodies, is punishment enough but they cry not for the pain, they cry for the deaths they have seen. Perhaps that is their punishment, to be born with a good heart, but to stand witness for generations never being able to help the ones they love. The town is nothing but an empty shell of what once was. There will no longer be goblin children running through the streets, laughing. No life, no breath, no light. Wait. No it can't be. There is a child! She sits in the corner of a burnt shop; the sign blackened to the point of illegibility. I run to her. She covers her face with her long dark hair. The scared child holds her legs close to herself and rocks back and forth. I touch her hand and ask her if she is injured. She says nothing. She begins to cry softly. I tell her that she is safe, that nothing will ever harm her again. The girl looks up at me. He face is dirty and there is mud in her hair, but she is beautiful. Tears roll down her cheek. She whispers something. I lean closer to hear her. Her eyes sparkle with sadness. They are dark green, the color of life. She reaches up and strokes my face. Her hands are soft against my skin. She looks up at me with such anger and sadness and hate and love and asks, "Why didn't you stop this?" She begins to disappear. I beg her not to go. I promise her that I'll keep her safe and that no one will hurt her ever again, that I will protect her. But she fades and leaves only her sorrowful voice asking again and again: Why didn't you? I cover my ears to shut her out but I still hear her, that beautiful voice of hers. I cry for her. "I'm sorry!" I shout, "I'm so sorry! Come back! Sarah! Please come back."_

The overwhelming smell of ash was what woke the Goblin King from his dream. He could not will his eyes to open but he was now conscious of his surroundings. The air is the room was humid and damp. He could feel steam on his face, which most likely originated from a barrel of linens submerged in scalding water. There was also a creak, a loose board perhaps? No… it was a rocking chair, he was sure of it. Someone was in the room, watching him, observing him. The thought made Jareth shiver. He forced his eyes to open but all he could see was a muted white. A bandage, or a blindfold, was covering his eyes. He tried to take it off but he experienced the most excruciating pain when he moved his left arm. So, using his other hand, he tried to pull the thing off his eyes, but a steady hand gripped his arm before he could go any further. "Now, now, Jareth. There is no need for alarm," said the voice. Jareth didn't recognize it.

"Where am I?" he asked, trying to release himself from the strangers grip. The stranger let go.

"You are out of harm's way. That's all you need to know for the time being." responded the voice calmly.

"All I need to know?" said Jareth incredulously," Do you know who I am? I demand you to tell me where I am!"

"All in good time." said the voice.

Jareth could hear steps retreating from him and once again, the repetitious creak of the rocking chair resumed.

"I will not be treated as a prisoner! I am the Goblin King!"

"There is no need to shout," said the voice quietly, "Impatience gets the best of you, your majesty. I know who you are and I do not intend to keep you as my prisoner. My intentions are far from that actually. By now, you've probably noticed the bandage on your arm."

"…and the blindfold." said Jareth cutting off the questionable stranger.

"A precaution."

"Precaution?" Jareth scoffed, "Where am I?"

"You tell me?" said the voice, raising a challenge.

Jareth reviewed his surroundings. Even though he could not see, his other senses where well enough to paint him a picture of where he might possibly be. "Let's see," though the Goblin King, "I am on a bed in a room with a stranger on a rocking chair. It smells strongly of ash but also of spices and herbs. A kitchen? No. The sounds weren't right. It's too quiet to be a kitchen. Perhaps a medicinal or remedy shop. Also it was cold, very cold, freezing in fact. Possibly….wait." The Goblin King took in a deep breath. "That is definitely the smell of legumes. A common medicine shop couldn't possibly have accesses to legumes."

"Any ideas?" prodded the voice.

"I believe I am in a medicinal shop of some sort, perhaps a magician's potion room somewhere near the Glaciem Peaks. You live alone, and you are currently washing some clothes. Ah, what is this? Cooking some mugyark broth? Oh, but that is the food of peasants." Jareth laughed, "Oh, this is precious. Me, the great and mighty Goblin King, being detained by a mere peasant." Jareth couldn't stop laughing.

The rocking chair ceased to creak.

Instantly, Jareth regained his memories prior to his awakening. Spying on the Siren and the Monster's secret arrangement, that blasted tree, falling, the child with hair like snow. May. That was her name. Where could she be? Suddenly, the Goblin King was frightened for the child.

"Where is she? The little girl?" demanded Jareth.

"A child?" asked the voice, "I found you alone on the forest floor, half-clothed and injured. There was no child."

"Don't you dare lie to me!" shouted Jareth, "If you know who I am, you must know what I am capable of!"

"Oh yes. I know you, maybe more than you would expect. But you do not know me or what I am capable of. Now I suggest that you manage to stay silent for a moment, if you can, so you may permit me to speak. That is if it's not too much to ask."

"There was no child?" asked Jareth cautiously, a lack of trust obvious in his voice.

"I can assure you there was not."

Jareth was silent. It would be wise to hold his tongue until he regained his power and sorted out the tedious predicament. The nerve of this creature! Jareth made mental arrangements to dunk them into the bog and send the cleaners after them in the eternal dungeon. Ah yes, glorious revenge. But first….

"Please excuse me for my former behavior. It's just that I'm not accustomed to waking up in strange places, blindfolded mind you, with strange unknown people; especially with the whereabouts of my friend being ever so cryptic," apologized Jareth, seeing that the best way to get out of this mess was to get on his capturer's good side.

"I understand" responded the voice compassionately.

"Now, would you be so kind as to tell me where I am and how I came to be here?"

"I found you in the center of Forest of Embers. You were completely alone and most of your clothes had been stolen. At first I thought you were some poor soul that the Mystics entranced. I tried to wake you but the trance was too strong. Then I noticed your broken arm. I carried you to my home, clothed you, cleaned you, bandaged you arm, and attempted healing several other scrapes and bruises. We are now in my home. And yes, I live alone and I am washing clothes. Your powers of observation serve you well. And if you were wondering, yes that is mugyark broth cooking. And don't act so high and mighty. Word is it's one of your guilty pleasures." The stranger laughed softly.

Jareth was surprised at the tone of the stranger. It was so….informal and familiar…as if he had known this person his whole life.

"How did you recognize me?" questioned Jareth.

"Oh please. That was the easiest part. Although you didn't have much of it on, your clothes gave it away. Denique serico, rare cloth reserved for the nobles. Ha! That would be the day, a noble visiting these parts. And with your kingdom in an uproar over you disappearance! It was fairly easy to connect the dots, your highness" replied the voice warmly.

"Disappearance? I've been gone for less than a day!"

"Oh no, your highness. You've been gone for much longer than that."

"Really?"

"About three to four weeks I'm guessing."

"Four weeks!"

"I'm guessing!" the voice chuckled, "It's a prayer that you didn't get eaten. There are many things that prowl in the darkness."

Jareth, wondering how he was still alive, was suddenly plagued with an abundance of question. The welfare of his kingdom, the balance of the labyrinth, and what had been done about his disappearance? Hopefully they hadn't assigned Principe Aurea. The greedy little fool! Taking advantage of everyone's misfortunes to claw his way into the monarchy! And his subjects! What had become of them? All of Jareth's inquires came out fast, a jumbled mess of words, hardly comprehendible.

"For the life of me, I could not understand a word you said. Perhaps a bit slower this time." said the voice.

"Oh gods," though Jareth, "This was going to take a while."

"Mother I did just like you told me," said the young Siren, "I held my ground and told them that if they didn't deliver the shipments, we wouldn't be giving them any more barrels. No negotiations."

"And how do the swine respond?" asked her Queen.

"He ran off into his pathetic hole, begging for mercy. He said that the shipments would be ready in a few days."

"Such insolence! We shouldn't even have to look at those filthy creatures, much less bargain with them. Nevertheless, desperate times lead to desperate measures. Did you take his horn?"

"No mother. I beg for your pardon."

The Queen sighed, disappointed. "I do like a bit of ivory. And a spear would do you well, child."

"If it pleases you mother, I will cut off both his horns the next time I venture out. And I will fashion them into spears for you, as a gift."

"You spoil me child," the Queen laughed coldly holding her excessively jeweled hand to her chest, "You have done well. You will be one of my finest daughters! Now, enough delay. Your sisters await."

The siren walked obediently into the pool laced with gold and precious jewels, such a beautiful place for such horrible things. The young siren held out arms. As her sisters approached, knife in hand, the siren felt a tremble of fear.

"Mother, is it necessary?" asked the siren, secretly wishing that her session of inmutato would be delayed.

"You question me, child?" asked the Queen of the Siren angrily, her voice as sharp as razors.

The siren hung her head in shame. This was her duty. Of course it was necessary. All of it. Even the pain. Pain made her stronger. It made all of them stronger. No time for tears.

"I apologize, mother. I am ready." The siren placed her pale arms in the wet hands of her sisters. The Queen gave her approval with a single nod and turned away as her children cut the arms of their young sister, making the water red as wine.

"It's necessary. All of it. No time for tears. No time for tears," though the young siren and she bit her tongue and watched the crimson color leaving her body. The water would restore life. The water would make her pure. She would finally become one of them, all in short time. The siren smiled and laughed bitterly.

"Mother?"

"Yes my daughter?" responded the Queen looking away, not being able to face her child.

"A storm is coming, mother," the young siren smiled at her great Queen, "A storm is coming."

**I hope you all enjoyed yet another chapter of my little project! And don't worry, more is sure to come. And please oh please comment! Every single one of them makes my heart dance. Oh! A special thanks to ****AuliyaSevgisi who has commented on every single one of my chapters! Thank you all so much for your encouragement and kind words. Although you may never see it(hopefully) I happy dance like a complete idiot every time one of you guys comment. Promises of more chapters to come! :D **


	8. Chapter 8

"…so Beatrice comes in, dressed like a complete clown! With this ridiculous makeup and that god awful wig!" Stella squeaky cackles vibrate through the empty house. She couldn't even catch her breath. "…and she…she…she didn't get it at first! She...she actually thought that we would let her join our book club! The very thought of it!" Stella put her hand to her chest, breathing rapidly, trying to calm herself. "She even brought cookies!" She burst out laughing again. No one else at the dinner table though Stella's story was funny but her husband nodded his head politely and Toby just stared down at his food.

"Isn't that hilarious, honey?" Stella asked her husband. He smiled and nodded his head, but his eyes showed shame.

She's so damn shallow. I came here for Toby, not to listen to her babble. Poor kid. Doesn't Stella know that Beatrice's son was a friend of Toby? Toby doesn't even have many friends to begin with. Anthony, Beatrice's son, was one of the only kids Toby talked to!

It's not like he could tell his loving mother that he had lost his only friend because of her "little joke". I swear, once he's old enough, I'm going to get Toby out of there. He doesn't deserve this.

I look over at Toby. And he looks up from his plate and smiles at me. I smile back. He may have a bitch for a mother, but if he's happy that we're here together, I'm happy. I'm not going to let Stella ruin everything for Toby too. I'm here for him. So I'll play nice – for tonight.

I look at my plate, regrettably, its Stella's home cooked special: fried rice, okra, meatloaf, and mushrooms. I have no idea why my father would let that woman enter the kitchen, much less cook, especially today! We're all going to die of food poisoning.

Most of the mush is consumable, except for the lone mushrooms that stand indignantly on my plate. Gross, sickly, overgrown fungi. Why do they even call them fungi? It not like they are fun in any way, whatsoever. She's doing this on purpose, the blonde viper, she's thinks she's so clever, serving mushrooms when she know all too well that I cannot stand the sight of them, or the smell. I remember that one night; she wouldn't let me leave the table without eating her disgusting, unpalatable mushrooms. "They're healthy! And delicious!" she would say.

I didn't leave the table for three days.

And she almost got away with it, telling my loving father, "You're too soft on her. The poor girl needs disciple." Luckily for me, Lancelot was a master of silent sneaking, and he came in the minute she turned her back on me. Oh, Lancelot! I could always count on you to scarf up anything the viper tried to shove down my throat.

"So Sarah," asked Stella's husband not looking up from his food, "How's the job going?"

"Fine. I wrote an article a while back." I responded.

He wouldn't even look at me, that father of mine. Just sat there, chewing his bland meatloaf. It's so good to be back home.

" Front page material, dear?" asked the viper, smiling sweetly, "You were so very excited when you announced that you got that newspaper job. Staff writer, if I can recall?"

I start to poke at a mushroom on my plate, imagining happily that my fork was just a bit sharper, and that the mushroom was Stella's head.

"Yes, that's right." I respond. I looked her straight in the face. Stella wasn't like my dear father; she looks at me with those unfeeling eyes of hers. She may be a cruel woman but she still has more balls than her husband.

"So dear, front page?" she asks.

Wow. Stella, you really amaze me.

"Oh yes!"

She wants a show? I'll give her a show!

"One of the staff writers had a terrible fall and she broke her hip. Unfortunately, she was going to write the front page article for the weekly edition. So when she was hospitalized, the poor chief editor was forced to find a replacement. Luckily, he found the stupidest and must gullible person in the building. Coincidently that happened to be me!"

"Oh dear, you mustn't be so hard on yourself!" Stella gasped, laughing a bit.

"Oh no, but it's true, _mother_. So, Mr. Blitzkrieg, the editor that is, he told me 'I'm going to tell it to you straight, write me a good front page article or you'll be sent to the mailroom FOREVER!' I was frightened and I was feeling a bit brash so I took up the bearded fellow on his offer."

"Was it difficult for you, dear?" She asks gladly, "You've always been the nervous sort around people. I hardly think that you would be capable of going places and interviewing people like a real reporter."

My father gave her a glare, but he didn't say anything.

"Actually I put all my heart into this assignment. I really gave it a go. I even visited Toby's school to interview some kids." I said glancing at my brother, giving him a small smile.

"Kids? Why on earth would you want their opinion on anything, dear?"

"Because, it was a story on how increasing technology affects children, Stella."

"Oh, well I'll tell you about that! Ever since the kids came out with their new game systems and Ipods and things of the like, it's never been better for parents. Instead of running around, screaming at the top of their lungs, being a nuisance, they sitting quietly in front of the television. Technology is the best thing that has ever happened to parenthood!" Stella exclaimed.

"Well, I think that…" I begin to say before Stella cuts me off.

"Take Mrs. Meyners for example. You know her, sweetie, don't you? She lives two blocks away. She has a son about your age. I think his name is Charlie."

"Yeah," I say quickly before she kept yammering, "I know him. We went to the same school."

"Ah yes," she continues, looking annoyed that I had interrupted her.

"Well, as I was saying, some years ago, I went to her house with the girls for a cocktail party. She was a horrible hostess and her drink mixer didn't even know how to make a martini, but I did notice one thing."

There was a silence, which then turned into a prolonged silence.

Man, I really wish I had a cricket right now.

"And what was that, dear?" asked her husband in a monotone voice, with a blank stare.

"Well," Stella resumed at full speed once more, "I noticed that I didn't hear one single irritating childlike noise. So I asked her if her son was out. She said he wasn't and then pointed to the living room. I walked over to her couch and there he was! Charlie, at that time he was right about Toby's age, sitting quietly, playing some game on the television. I sat beside him, and not a peep! I had never seen a child so calm before, or quiet for that matter," she said, directing her gaze at me, "Well, you know Sarah, you never were the ideal child. You'd always throw fits and you would get jealous over the slightest thing! Oh, and the screaming! 'That's not fair!' My God! It would never end! And then your books! I know that's where you got that nasty attitude from. I tried to take them away from you, for your own good, but your father thought otherwise."

"Now dear," tried to interject my father, "I hardly think…"

"That's my point exactly, Howard. You hardly think about anything!" Stella laughed.

No one else did.

"Oh honey," she said placing her hand on his arm, "You know I'm just teasing!" She smiled, and her husband smiled back.

What a sad lie you all live in.

"Well, unfortunately," I said breaking the silence, "I had to interview the children and get their perspective on – "

"A foolish idea, really." Stella said cutting me off yet again, "If you ask me – "

"I didn't."

"Excuse me?" she says semi-surprised.

"I said: I didn't. I didn't ask for your opinion because quite frankly, I don't want to know your opinion, Stella. In fact, there is nothing in the whole world that I least want to know."

"You don't mean that!" she cries, her eyes watering with crocodile tears.

"Actually, I do. With all my heart" I say bitterly.

"Honey!" she says turning to her sham of a husband, "Do you hear what she's saying to me? Do something!"

And although his wife cries, he still does nothing. People of the earth, I give you the very embodiment of exemplary companionship! I swear, dad, your dedication to your lovely wife is just too much!

"You're not welcome in this house!" she cries, tears smearing the buckets of makeup she has plastered on her decaying face.

She points to the door.

God, she looks like a raccoon.

"Get out! GET OUT!" she screams.

I get up from the table. I'm sick and tired of this shit.

"It would be my utmost pleasure, mother! Oh, and to answer the question I know you where just DYING to ask, my little project turned out to be a complete ruin! Once I finished the stupid article, Mr. Blitzkrieg called, saying that Mrs. Kleever had made a miraculous recovery and that my services would no longer be needed. After all I had done, the story was scraped. It was never even close to print."

Hot tears run down my face. I wipe them away furiously.

The bitch smiles. She actually smiles.

"Well of course, honey! You didn't think they would let an inadequate mailroom girl like you actually write the front page article for a well known newspaper, did you?"

Stella, the devil would be amazed by you.

"You're a sociopath." I say.

I leave the table.

"Did you hear what she said to me!" she implores to her husband, "Don't you turn your back on me missy!"

I turn around and walk right up to the viper.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Was a being rude? Was I acting childish? Well forgive me for feeling offended by your wonderful rainbow of criticisms!"

I lean in closer and whisper in her ear, "And thank you for the food, especially the mushrooms, they were absolutely _delicious!_"

I kiss her cheek and smile at her astonishment.

"Goodbye mother. I had a swell time. We really should do this more often!"

She puts her hand up to her cheek and starts wiping my kiss away, as if it were some type of flesh eating bacteria. Oh, that really hurts.

I head to the door. And as a grand finale, the cherry on top I say, "By the way Stella, honey, you look like a raccoon."

I can hear her pitiful sobs but I won't turn back. I refuse to see that woman anymore. She don't deserve anymore of my time.

"Harold! Are you even listening? Do something!"

But nothing is done. My father doesn't have the will to intervene. Not on my behalf or yours, sweetie.

I hear her running off into the kitchen.

"Wait, honey! Come back, she didn't mean it!" I hear my father calling after her as if woken from some sort of comatose trance.

"Right, Sarah, honey, you didn't mean it, did you? Come on, just tell her you didn't mean it and we can all have dinner like a family."

I look back at him, this father of mine.

"We are not a family" I tell him.

My father stares blankly at me and then runs off after Stella.

I look at the table where we were all sitting only moments ago. Only one person remains seated. Toby.

He's crying. Oh God, what have I done?

"Toby, I…"

He turns and looks at me, tears spilling from those magnificent ocean blue eyes. Those eyes that sting.

It's my fault. Oh God, it's all my fault.

My head begins to spin.

It's my fault.

It's my fault.

I try to go to Toby, I need to tell him how sorry I am.

I have a throbbing pain in my chest. It hurts. It hurts so much.

I lean myself against the wall, trying to balance myself.

But I fall.

I hear a loud crack but the only thing I feel is the relentless pain in my chest. And the edges of my world begin to darken, turning everything black.


End file.
